


From Alleyways to Outerspace...

by InvisbleDragon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ADHD Tony Stark, M/M, Oblivious Tony, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Troll Steve Rogers, Unresolved Sexual Tension, nothing actually happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvisbleDragon/pseuds/InvisbleDragon
Summary: Tony never expected this. But he can't complain. Not really, anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFictionFairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFictionFairy/gifts).



> I tried my best, I really did. Please don't hurt me, or hate me... I'm just going to go hide myself away now. Enjoy.

Tony wasn't all that excited for Christmas, no matter what Steve said. Pepper understood, Rhodey understood; but they'd been with him for years. They knew why he didn't like the season.

And no, Steven; it was not because he was miserable that Pepper had broken up with him. And double no, Clinton; it was not because he was the Grinch incarnate. His employees were very happy with their status as Stark Industries employees.

Then again, there was Natasha's theory. But no matter how scientifically probable, it was not because of the iron suit around his heart.

He had a secret.

Well, he actually had many,  _ many _ secrets. But there was one secret he hadn't told anyone alive.

This secret was that the idea of becoming Iron Man was not founded in the desert of Afghanistan when he was held prisoner by the Ten Rings. The mere idea that he could draw blueprints in a dusty cave, and figure out the math behind everything, was ridiculous. Of course he was a genius, but he wasn't a super spy capable of lying to a crime lord and hiding the fact of doing math on paper was for a missile, he'd already created.

It was absurd to think that, absolutely absurd. He didn’t have the composure to keep a level head when being threatened with a gun. He might have read all the spy and science fiction novels he could in order to prep hopefully, maybe one day being a superhero.  _ Didn’t every child wish to be Captain America? He who single-handedly turned the tide of the war in their favor. The one who took down a supervillain all by himself, and paid the greatest price? Never being able to come home, forever lost. Millions of people cried when they learned of his sacrifice, but who would cry for one single child. Who would care? There were no people who held him dear in their hearts. There would be no one to grieve him. There was no one that cared enough. And not even the only person who had been around Tony longer than three months without being paid to be around him, would care enough. After all, James had difficulties of his own. Being black, a promising recruit to the military, and being in MIT all at the same time, would make anyone stressed beyond comparison. _

Tony sighed and shook his head as he downed his glass of whiskey. This was by far the worst one of all. Since Pepper and Rhodey had long since given up any chances of his celebrating the holiday season, he had gotten used to his solitude and quiet around the celebration of Jesus and all that. Every year as he watched the lines around his eyes get deeper and deeper, and he watched the man in the mirror truly lift his mask, he watched as he got worse and worse every year. Only now that he had a team, and was running around completing missions with a team as Iron Man, the feeling was back. A horrid bone deep gnawing in his stomach at the thoughts Howard always vocalized at any given opportunity.

Every year on this day it was the worst of all. The day his parents died, and the year his father's' vicious vitriol was silenced. The year Tony's fascination beyond Stark Industries weapons took hold,  _ as he watched a shiny metal arm rip the car door off and choke the life out of his mother. Watching her already glassy eyes, gloss over and stare into death. Watching as the man clothed in black tactical gear stride around the car, and open the trunk, swishing himself into the space between the back of his father's' seat, and the front of the backseat, hunkering down as far as possible and staying as quiet as he could be, with terrified whimpers caught in his throat. _

_ One final gunshot later, and the roar of a bike, had Tony peeking his head over the edge of the window, peering into the dark night, flinching down as the motorcycle sped past, only the sharp gleam of the metal arm imprinted in Tony's mind, being the only thing to make him crawl out of the crumpled car hours later when the police had been hailed and asking if he was alright, if he was injured, if he needed any help, if he hit his head, if he could remember his name. _

_ "To _ ny.” 

Tony snorted a bit, as his head bounced off the table in front of him, culminating his lost balance; already aided by all the alcohol he'd imbued earlier in preparation for the painful hours of the night, and a growing headache centered at the center of his hairline.

It was Steve, of course it was Steve. Why had he given the good Captain override codes to his workshop again? Why had they even worked, wasn't he in his level 81 lockdown? Hadn't he already told the Avenger not to disturb him, unless it was an Avengers emergency of the level Loki or something or Earth shattering consequences?

Tony shook his head slightly, attempting to shake away some of the fog that had accumulated in his head. Unfortunately, doing so while drunk, with a possible concussion, and attempting to stand up, resulted in a nearly epic faceplant onto the floor. At least, it would have been, had Steve's arms not been there to catch him and ease him slowly to his feet .

"Stark, what are you doing?"

Tony sighed at the lecturing tone in Steve's voice. He hated being lectured, especially if it was in a condescending tone of voice like the one Steven Grant Rodgers, virtue of justice and Mr. I can't get drunk, so I don't understand why others would choose to do so. Tony batted futily at the arms encircling his waist, until Steve let go, then stepped back and straightened out his wrinkled ACDC shirt with a huff.

“You could have told JARVIS you wanted to see me, or is it an Avenger's alarm?" Tony was just a bit angry, just a tiny little bit. No one could tell.

"It's neither actually, Stark. I just wanted to tell you that while not an alarm, it is an Avengers issue, and that Bucky, you remember Bucky- my best friend from Before, was finally spotted, and that it doesn't seem like he's going to run this time, so I was wondering what the chances were of us putting him up here, or at least maybe finding a room for him to kip out in while I go talk to him."

"Of course you want to go talk to the Post Traumatic Stress Disordered War Veteran and Hydra brainwashed assassin of 70 years. Were you even planning on taking the shield, or 'because it's Bucky’, you don't think you need to take care to protect yourself. What if it's a trap, what if he's not aware of your approach, what if he snaps and tries to kill you again. And don't you dare answer any of these questions with- 'but it’s Bucky.' I'm going with you, and that's the end of that, now let me give you a tac vest to wear under your clothes, because you're sure as hell not wearing your Captain America suit to go cajole in a lost twitchy assassin."

Tony grumbled to himself, as he went over to the wall, and with a press of his hand to a hidden scanner, unlocked and pulled out a storage container, taller than he.

At Steve's astounded look, Tony grinned. "I promised Bruce Candyland. These are just what come out of my workshop." Tony darted back and forth pulling out bits of equipment, a tac vest, a wristwatch that was one part tracker and one part taser. One very extremely powerful taser.

Steve looked on as Tony piled these objects into his arms, and was quiet when he was ushered to change and see if it fit well.

With the vest on underneath his clothes, Steve slowly twirled in place as Tony spun his finger. "Ok, it fits. Great! Now, you might not be able to take your shield with, but I've been working on making a solid light holograph version of it, and while it's not complete yet with everything that needs to happen, it does throw up an invisible but solid shield for a few seconds, just long enough for you to run.”

Steve frowned as he took the shield projection wristwatch. "It's Bucky. I don't need to protect myself from him." He said quietly, as he turned it around in his hands.

Tony frowned at the petulant note he heard as Steve spoke. "Clearly, you've forgotten that he was brainwashed by Hydra for the past seventy years, and now that he's free he has a jumble of half dead brain synapses firing, and no one to give him orders." Tony crossed his arms, "But sure, I mean of course he's going to be perfectly fine and not twitchy at all, without a single tiny shred of shell-shock. Really, Rogers, I know you're happy for your friend, but it's not going to be easy for him now. You've got to be careful. You're the team leader, and if anything happens to you while we're out and about, the team's going to blame me."

The team always blames me.

Tony didn't say it, but he definitely thought it. It was a bitter truth, but one that was necessary for Tony to always have to remember. That he wasn't as valuable to the team, that he was too much, and always unwanted. That wasn't a surprise though. He was always unwanted.

An unwanted pregnancy, and unwanted distraction, and unwanted toddler always showing up his father with bigger and better versions.

Even his teachers hadn't wanted him, and that he was always offered to test ahead was only partly the reason that he was too smart for the class. He was never wanted, and as much as those bitter memories of high school still stung, he was better than them. And he had a friend now. Two of them to be exact.

Rhodey would probably be surprised that Tony was acting cautious, but honestly; Tony only ever poked at things he probably shouldn't wen in a laboratory. Point in case, Bruce on the helicarrier. Tony shook his head to get back to the current problem, instead of painfully reminiscing on the first meeting with the others.

"So yes, you will be wearing this tac vest. And you will also be wearing the shield watch. Better safe than sorry, and I really don't want to drag your bleeding ass back to the tower because you thought it would be a wise idea to go without any defensive equipment to go bring your friend back.”

It was a nice day. Absolutely perfect weather to go invite a long thought dead brainwashed Soviet assassin into his pride and joy. Well, into one of his pride and joy's anyway. He was rich, therefore Tony could be eccentric. And when he was feeling eccentric, he usually wound up doing such things as; revolutionizing the green and clean energy crisis, drawing out blueprints for a weaponized suit of armor to allow him to kick butt (even if the Chitauri had no butts to speak of), and even seeking retribution on all those who had a hand in Obadiah Stane's dirty double dealing.

Tony seethed, gritting his teeth as he followed Steve down the streets of New York, sweltering under the Mets hoodie Steve had forced him into to keep him incognito for as long as possible. The Mets? This was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard of, and he'd heard of his father scolding him for even entertaining the notion that putting a motherboard onto a piece of plastic the size of his fingernail and using it to power a computer powerful enough to send a rocket with a group of men in it to go to the moon. Tony snickered to himself as he remembered how bitter his father was that he hadn't been invited to work on the Lunar moon missions.

Tony shook his head furiously;trying to ground himself back into the current moment and not long passed memories, causing sweat soaked bangs to whip back and forth across his forehead, the salt stinging in his eyes. It disoriented him momentarily, putting him off balance, and making his ankle twist underneath him, pitching him into the person walking past him.

"Whoops, sorry." Tony muttered, as he got his feet steady, using the man's broad shoulders to help him catch his balance. As Tony glanced up to apologize again, he caught sight of blue eyes boring into his. A small gasp fell from his lips instead of the apology, as the man ripped himself from Tony's loose grasp on his dark jacket and brushed his way through the crowded sidewalk.

Tony was torn, should he follow the possible match on Barnes, or should he follow Steve's lead on this one. Tony glanced back at where Steve had been walked, and swallowed nervously. Even if he followed Steve, he had no idea of knowing where Steve was, as Steve hadn't deemed it important for Tony to know where they would be going. Tony glanced back at where the blue-eyed man was standing, staring at him. It was almost as though he wanted for Tony to follow him, because as Tony watched, he dipped his baseball cap lower, and then shifted with the swell of the crowd and began to step away, following the flow of the crowd.

Tony spun on his heel and dashed after the man, ducking low under elbows and swinging purses, always keeping his eyes firmly fixated to the brown hood peeking out over the edge of what appeared to be a dark grey jacket. Tony didn't run, not usually, and quite actually, never; so when the jacket bobbed out of his vision, Tony blinked and knelt over, hands braced on his knees as he panted for air, feeling like a million fire ants were crawling inside of his throat, all the way down to his lungs.

He couldn't breathe, and the was a furious pressure sinking down _ down _ **_down_ ** in the middle of his chest, pinning him helpless, and sucking the life and energy out if him. He had an anchor tied to him, and he was drowning.

Until a gentle arm pulled him over to the side of the sidewalk, and pulled him into the alleyway, tugging to sit down on cold cement which quickly plastered the material of his jeans to his butt.

Evidently he had just been seated in a puddle, which was hopefully only water, and not some other, more unsavory fluid, which wouldn't be all too uncommon on the streets of New York City. If he hadn't still been wheezing for air to suck down, Tony could have smacked himself. What was he doing, allowing himself to lose sight of his surroundings, what was he doing allowing some unknown person to take him from busy traffic where someone might see him, help him, to a quiet alleyway, which although there were still people rushing past the alley opening only five steps away, was muted from the outside world and deserted of any signs of life. Intelligent life, mused Tony idly inside his head as he hacked for air, when his jittering foot scratched a small sheet of cardboard to the side and revealed a colony of ants to be feasting on the deserted remain of a pizza crust.

Just like the ants would never have known about him, if he'd never have shifted the cardboard, showing them a giant with stomping feet to squish them under, Tony would never know who had nabbed him into the alleyway if he didn't lift up his head and look his future, possibly current mugger in the face.

So Tony went to lift his head up and look at his assailment in the eyes, when his head was jerked forward by cold roughened hands at the nape of his neck. The soft wool of the fingerless gloves the man wore were scratchy, but they felt nice against his neck, especially when the man scritched his fingernails against the newly freshened shorn hairs at the nape of his hairline. It was truly astonishing how much tension bled out of Tony at the motion, especially when being done by someone he couldn't even see, because he'd been pulled into an awkward embrace, his nose stuck in an armpit, and his eyes squeezed shut against the fabric of the brown hoodie the man was wearing under his grey outer jacket.

The realization that this was a complete stranger that Tony was allowing to... fondle him, for lack of better terminology, was like a dash of ice water down Tony's spine, as he stiffened and shot out of the embrace with a yelp, shivering in the frigid air. Tony danced around as he tried to get the water trapped at the waist of his sweater, shivering and puffing steamy air into the brisk air.

The fingernails softly scratching at the shorn hairs at the nape of his neck had been a feeling of absolute heaven, but Tony wanted to know who it was, goddammit. So Tony stopped hopping around in circles, yelping about the rainwater that had come out of the gutters, only to land inside the collar of his jacket, and turned around to face the unknown man who had calmed him through an asthma attack, only to stagger backwards in shock.

Tony placed his hand on his chest and gasped dramatically. "The soldier from the mountains."

Obviously it was a reference that went way too far over the thawed out McGrouchy face, as he didn't even react to the Mulan reference beyond a quirk of an eyebrow, and oh wow Tony suddenly felt like he usually did when Natasha lifted her eyebrow. How was this possible? Oh right, Tony forgot that he was sometimes an idiot and proceeded to smack himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand.

"Duh!" He exclaimed, causing the Soldier out of Time to rush forward and cup his mouth shut as he was suddenly pulled into the man's extremely toned and muscular body, and oh hello there biceps.

Tony drooled a little bit as he stroked along the outside of the sleeve that he knew held the shiny silver arm that would cure his boredom and secure some quality time with this Hotty McGroucherson.

Then, all of a sudden, Tony was sitting on his ass in another mysterious liquid puddle on the ground in a dingy alleyway as the dark haired man shivered in disgust and wiped his hand on the outside of his jacket.

Tony pouted for a few quick seconds until his brain was quickly sidetracked by the shine of the sun catching on shiny metal through a tiny gap between the jacket and the gap.

Tony jumped up and attached himself to the arm, purring over how strong it felt, and what kind of metal was used to craft it, it was so light. It couldn't possibly be adamantium even though the indestructible quality of the arm was there, it was much too light to possibly be anything that heavy of a metal, so what could it possibly be, and did you know that it's remarkably shiny. Did the Soldier have regular maintenance on the arm, did he clean ir or shine it or tinker with the wires or anything of the sort and could he very possibly maybe have a more in depth look about the inner mechanics of the arm, and he promised to not bring out the bolt cutter to take it off even though it was crazy nasty Hydra Nazi tech and he as Tony Stark greatest genius in engineering in the world could do an indefinite amount of times better than blood metal and please could he go back to the Tower and his workshop to open the panels and look at it and scan it to figure out the function of the inner components?

The soldier staggered back a step and hunched himself against the brick wall at his back. Such a tiny person, so vibrant and alive and so loud and always talking. Flashes of memory floated to the surface like dirt debris floating down stream after a horrible storm, and for the first time since that confusing mission on the bridge and he had seen the man in the mask who knew him, knew his name; he felt like he had a clear mind.

Bucky sat up suddenly and grasped the fluttering arm of the tiny brunette kneeling in the dirty rags strewn on the ground. "Who the fuck are you and why am I lying on the ground?"

The tiny brunette stood up and huffed at him in a manner reminiscent of Steve. “I am Tony, you creep. And you are the one who pulled me back here all quiet and creepy like and then when I asked you a couple questions about my arm you went all weird and you jumped against the wall so hard you knocked a few bricks loose and a couple of them clocked you over the head and you fell down and I rolled you nto your back and called one of my friends and you have to-NO DON’T MOVE YOU IDIOT! Stay laying down, what if you have a concussion and you die you have to stay laying down until my doctor friend can take a look at you and see if you need any extra healing or not, please lay back down, your arm is really nice and I don't necessarily want you to die even though I have good enough reason to want you to be dead and URGH! words are hard.”

Tony the tiny brunette huffed and ran his hands through his hair to pull at it hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"Hey, whoa, whoa. No, don't do that. Don't do that, Tony, it's not good for your hair or your head." Bucky gently pulled the hands away from the head full of dark curls styled tightly into an elaborate amount of poof with hair spray and found himself gently hugging a weeping super-genius to his chest, all the while murmuring softly to him.

Not but a few moments later there was a blonde haired man standing at the entrance of the alleyway.

"Tony?" asked Steve.

"Steve," answered Tony quietly exhausted.

"Steve?" Bucky echoed in quiet wonder.

"Bucky!" Steve exclaimed joyfully.

"Steve!" Bucky too was excited at seeing his long time friend back... but, how did he find him? "Steve?"

"Bucky?" asked Steve in a worried tone.

"Tony." Bucky explained, gently rolling his shoulder to show he had his arms full with snarky, and sleepy genius.

"Tony?" Steve questioned incredulously.

"Steve?" Bucky felt protective over the small person in his arms.

"Bucky." Steve tried to explain.

"Steve." Bucky sniffed with a look on his face to show he wasn't going to be swayed away from currently holding, and quite possibly watching after the impossible genius.

"Bucky?" Steve felt betrayed. His long-time friend was back from the grave, and now he had replaced Steve with Tony as his best friend? Impossible, the two hadn't even met before today, what could Bucky possibly do with Tony that he couldn't do with Steve, besides Steve had been Bucky's friend first.

"Steve" Bucky felt like he had to explain his reasonings to his long-time friend.

"Bucky." Steve felt betrayed at the loss of his friend. "Bucky," he pleaded attempting to convey his feeling of having searched for him for all those months after the D.C. helicarrier crash and the emotional whirlwind he had felt at the surprise and complete turmoil he had been going through. "Bucky." He finished with a cold steel edge to his voice.

"Steve." Bucky replied, anger warming the edge of his voice. "Steve." He warned, not wanting to choose.

It didn't make sense though. For all intents and purposes, he had spent perhaps five minutes in the presence of the diminutive brunette, and he had spent a lifetime with Steve, his very best friend.

He didn't know why he was feeling this sudden urge of complete protection over this brunette. Sure he reminded him a little of Steve, before he went and joined the army in a harebrained and completely stupid quest for rescuing him, but Bucky would've thought that he would have possibly gotten over that. Bucky had joined to... well, Bucky had joined because of all of those reasons Steve had always tossed out in a sort of homage for Steve. He had loved Steve and he had wanted to make the smaller blonde proud of him for serving his country, but then Steve had come and he’d been bigger and then he was the best and he didn't seem to need Steve anymore and why was he crying?

He was The Soldier, the Asset, he was cold, and he was ice. There was no showing weakness or he'd get the chair again.

NO!

He was Bucky. He was James. He was James Buchanan Barnes with a nickname of Bucky, he was friends with Steve and he was going to... he was going to... he didn't know what he was going to do.

He was lost, an island floating adrift in a sea of emotional turmoil. Why was he feeling these things? He didn't know how to deal with this. Emotions were hard. Why had nobody warned him about this?

Oh right, he was... who was he? His entire life swam before him, and he just wanted to reach out and stop it from swimming blurrily in front of him.

He slowly reached out with a hand, and then he felt like he was falling endlessly into a rabbit hole, suffocating blackness surrounding him on all sides, crushing the air from his lungs, he couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe. The was pressure in his chest, but as he thumped his chest with his hand, he felt the pressure crumple under the strength of his metal fist, and then all of a sudden it was back and stronger than ever and why couldn't he breathe there was air, there should be air at least. Oh god, why wasn't there any air, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe.

He screamed, sitting bolt upright, hair messy, and framing his face, hanging into his vision and his panic blown wide eyes scanned the room he was in for enemies. Where were they hiding, they were always hiding, always wanting something from him, he needed them to be dead. He needed to kill his enemies dead. He needed air, he had air?

Why did he have air, when did he have air? Why did the air taste too clean and light?

It tsated a little sweet.

Since when did the air taste sweet?

He giggled, it tasted sweet, probably like sunshine and laughter.

Sweet like laughter, he couldn't help it the idea was hilarious to him, and he laughed, until he cried, he laughed until he had tears streaming down his face, he laughed until he was in physical pain. Why was the idea for funny to him?

He hunched over, gripping at his abdomen as he laughed. Or at least he laughed until his face bumped against the ridge of his kneecap. He opened his eyes a smidge to look at why his face had bumped against his knee without feeling the coarse fabric of the sheet on his legs scratching softly against the stubble he knew he had on his face. He giggled softly as the laughter fit passed, and he could slowly begin to piece together what he was seeing.

He had bumped his head against his knee, and he was still pressing against his knee, but he could clearly see his knee and it wasn't against his face? What was going on?

He pressed his face harder against his face and giggled when he felt the edges press in deeper around the bridge of his nose and underneath his chin.

Wait, edges? Around his nose and under his chin, what was happening? Why did he?

This wasn't... why did he? Anger blanketed his fear, even as he felt ice crawling down his spine.

He had been captured. Captured by the enemy.

He ripped off the mask covering his face and took a gasp of clean air, even as his heart rate spiked and a small alarm began to beep on the heart rate monitor. Bucky ripped off the blanket covering his legs and stared in horror, he had been cuffed to the bed by his ankles.

He smirked darkly, this wouldn't hold him long, obviously whoever had captured him were amateurs and wouldn't last very long once he got out of this room and began his task of hunting down the two he remembered seeing with him in the alleyway and got them out of this hell.

He took a deep breath as he examined the thick straps that pinned his legs to the bed. He couldn't see a seam, but he knew that with enough pressure he could rip it off, but the trick was not doing it hard enough to completely destroy it just in case he needed a makeshift harness to tie up the enemy... or strangle as the case may be.

With his left index finger, Bucky wriggled and wormed his finger underneath the strap, and began to pull upwards in an attempt to rip off his restraints.

He pulled and pulled and pulled on the strap, trying to wriggle his finger under it even more to give himself more leverage when he pulled upwards. There was no give in the strap, and the cold metal of his finger left goosebumps running up and down his legs, but he kept twisting his finger further in trying to reach the sweet spot of leverage, also known as the finger joint.

He couldn’t push any further in so Bucky switched tactics, and began to wedge in a second finger beside his first finger in the tight opening and began to push his finger in until it came to a rest fully stretched out beside his index finger.

With a small groan, he crooked his fingers upwards and slowly, very slightly the hard fabric began to lift away from the tight press against his ankles.With a small gasp or victory Bucky quickly shoved in his third finger and then added the power of that finger to the pull. It gave more space and Bucky went to roll his pinkie into the mix and tear with a full handled grasp around the heavy fabric, but he paused in his ministrations at the sound of footsteps. He froze and as he heard the soft squeak squeak and the click clack of two different people walking he heard lowered voices humming. He could tell that they were still further down the hall of wherever he was held, but he panicked and with a heavy groan he ripped the strap off the bed, thoroughly shredding it into multiple strips, but he still had one long piece left and he quickly bit into it to keep him quiet from any breathes of huffed air that might give away his location.

With a soft rustle of the sheets on the bed, Bucky quietly slipped out of the bed and padded barefoot to the window and slowly drew back the curtain to try and get a glimpse of where he was, but what he saw in the open glass shocked him. He saw clouds and an impossibly dark blue sky darkening even more all the while as he stared out into it. The soft snick of the door behind him twitched his attention, but as no screams from someone or the harshly coughed out orders of another handler dragged his eyes away from the first sense of overwhelming peace and serenity he felt, it didn't really matter to him what the person behind him was doing.

He sighed and all the unknown stresses slipped away from him, even as a voice in his head protested furiously to have him at the very least glimpse behind him to see who had attempted to sneak at the vicious Russian boogeyman.

He shook his head, still staring at the faintly appearing stars as he felt the presence of the one who had stepped into the room stepped closer behind him. "Beautiful, isn't it?" asked a deep voice, one he had as of yet not even heard.

Bucky hummed in agreement, then slowly turned to watch this new person. As his eyes analyzed his appearance. Male, middle age, bald, half blind, and dressed in black leathers. Obviously one of the higher level goons.

"Who are you?" And why am I here? Bucky asked.

"My name is Nick Fury and I am from S.H.I.E.L.D.." The man paused, watching Bucky's face for any sort of recognition before he continued on, "Well, I was from S.H.I.E.L.D. until you and your Hydra buddies showed me and a few others just how rotten we truly were. So we burned it down and now we are in the process of rebuilding. Currently we are hovering about 31,000 miles above the ground in an unspecified location and you have to distinct pleasure of telling my why I shouldn't throw you overboard."

Bucky sighed. The name Hydra was as vaguely familiar as the term S.H.I.E.L.D., so obviously as he had been part of Hydra he must have been on the wrong side of the law and these S.H.I.E.L.D. people must have been the good to their evil. Which meant that, "I don't have a good reason to tell you not to throw me overboard. I probably can't tell you anything that would keep you from doing so, but if there would be one thing possibly keeping you from doing so  is because you have a notion of trying to dig out information of Hydra bases out of my head to  find secret and shut them down completely, but I don't know more than a few and those I've already ransacked and burned for information and any and all information that I found pointed me at Captain America, so if you want information you'd probably have to ask him, because I don't know."

The black man sighed even as his eye narrowed into glare that could have caused a leeor man to piss his pants. Bucky tried to keep his smile off his face, he really did. He obviously failed when Fury growled, “You’re as bad as Stark, I swear. Fine, I’ll go debrief Rogers, while you get yourself down to Stark’s on the go workshop and let him take a look inside your arm, because I don’t want no nasty Hydra shit on my Helicarrier, not again. Stark! I know you’re listening! No trying to steal him, IF, IF and not When I decide he’s cleared for duty, it will be on a trial basis and  make no guarantees that he’s on your team.” he directed his attention back to Bucky who was looking around curiously for Howard. It had been close to seventy years, and he had… Oh. The memory clicked into place. He had killed Howard. This. This was probably very bad. The one who was going to be toying with his arm was the son, or possibly grandson of the man he had choked to death using the very same arm that he would be hunkered down over to inspect the contents of.

“Barnes.” Bucky snapped his attention back to the man in black, “Get your ass out of here, before I decide to put a bullet in it. And get that look off your face, I don’t need any more self-deprecating idiots on board. One is enough, and I don’t the Avengers to be a mess of teenaged angst.”

Bucky blinked. No words could define his confusion, so he stayed silent. And then even as the door opened, Bucky refused to look away from the warning in the man’s brown eyes. A gentle hand cupped around his elbow and guided him footstep by footstep out of the room. The motions and directions were carefully logged by Bucky’s subconsciousness, even as his upper brain tried to process what the warning in Fury’s eyes could have been. Surely, he was only imagining the warning to take care of him. Take care of who? Of Steve? Of course, he was his best friend. But they had just been talking of Stark. Who was Stark? Bucky didn’t know of any Stark besides Howard, and he had killed him, so there was a lot of confusion clouding Bucky’s mind.

Buky felt himself get pushed into a chair, and even as he felt his heart rate pick up, and panic start to set in, he heard the clang of a tool case on the floor next to him, and a sudden and soft weight on his lap. It was an automatic gesture that had him wrapping his arms around the one who was sitting on him. His head was pushed into a shoulder junction, even as the one sitting on his lap wriggled around to make himself comfortable. Then Bucky’s shirt was pushed down his shoulder a bit and a small hammer began to ting across the metal plates.

When the hammer stopped knocking on the plates of his arm, Bucky lifted his head and stared at the person who was sitting on him. It was Stark. 

It was also the engineer of the Tower in New York. It was the small brunette who Bucky had goaded into chasing after him. It was…

“My name is Tony.”

“What?” croaked Bucky with a dry mouth as Tony gave another wriggle in his lap to make himself more comfortable.

“Well, I figure that basic manners are important if I’m going to badger you with questions. Such as, can you take your shirt off, and can we take a few x-rays, and can you please do a few motions with your arm for me, and also,” Tony ground his butt down into Bucky’s lap and frowned. “Is that a gun in your pocket?” Bucky paled, did he have a… his mind raced for excuses, even as Tony’s hand wandered to his pocket and his fingers creeped inside. Bucky closed his eyes and waited for a disgusted shout, but he suddenly felt something sliding out of the pocket of his jeans.

He had completely forgotten about the gun he had grabbed off of the cop he had stuffed into the dumpster that he had crossed paths with and had caught in the middle of the act of beating up a teenaged kid in the lower slums of New York.

Tony sniffed at the sight of the gun, deemed it rubbish for some inconsequential reason or another, and then proceeded to drop it inside his tool case, even as he pulled Bucky up and pushed him to get his shirt off.

At the sight of Bucky’s smooth chest Tony felt his mouth go a bit dry and he swallowed heavily. He hesitantly stepped forward and lifted his hand to touch the muscles visible, god were those pectorals even real? And holy shit he now had a thing for abdominals muscles. Tony itched to feel the muscles under his fingertips, and he was seconds away from gently tracing his fingers along the pronounced ridges, when he snatched his hand back and glanced upwards to see if Bucky had noticed.

As Bucky’s head was still trapped in the collar of the shirt, Tony really hoped he hadn’t seen anything. Bucky whimpered, the sound drawing Tonys attention away from his mindless drooling over the sheer amount of ‘holy hell this guy looks damn fine’ and he asked “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Bucky felt his cheeks heat up, trapped by the fabric of the shirt twisted up in his hair, that kept his arms from hanging down at his sides. He felt vulnerable and especially shy, something that was an odd feeling for him. “I, uh. I appear to be stuck. And I think my hair is stuck in one of the buttons.” Bucky stretched out his arms and then drew then back in with a wince. “It’s definitely stuck somewhere though.”

Tony gently pushed Bucky to sit back down on the chair, and then he pushed Bucky’s thighs, those massive thighs, holy shit they were huge, hot damn this man would look damn fine with his legs wrapped around Tony’s neck, as he… Tony jerked himself backwards from the proximity of the man suddenly felt his face flush almost a deep dark red, even as some of the blood fought to go downwards. Tony coughed to break the sudden stillness, and then hesitantly climbed in between those very thick, and delicious looking jean clad thighs of pure muscle. 

The proximity between his suddenly very tight pants and those magnificent abs was miniscule as Tony leaned in to study the dark chocolate strands of silk caught in between the buttons on the shirt. It was a mind numbing task and Tony felt his blush slowly die down as he picked at the strands to pull them from the buttons. 

As Tony released the last of those very soft and very smooth hair strands from the prison that was the shirt, he slowly slid his hands up along the powerfully corded muscle of Bucky’s biceps and tried not to shiver as he helped Bucky pull the dark fabric of his shirt off over his head.

Bucky’s face when free from the fabric had a slightly red tint to it as well, and Tony chalked it up to the heat of having been stifled in his own shirt, even as he felt himself he clasped around the back of the waist with two very strong arms and drawn even closer to the mussed up Bucky Barnes. 

Tony inhaled very slowly and exhaled a shaky breath even as he caught his lip between his teeth and started to gnaw on it. Then he proceeded to throw himself out of the chair and Bucky’s lap at the sound of an amused cough at the door.

Tony popped his head back up from the floor and glared at Steve, even as blood began to pool out of his nose.

“I hate you” He pronounced to the smug blonde at the door.

“I know. Now why don't we get you and Bucky back to the Tower so that you can fool around in your own lab where there won’t be any suspicious and nosy super spies watching the camera feed.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve, even as he held his head high and began to walk from the room, only to make a u-turn at the door and march back to Bucky and  toss his shirt at him, and then pick up the still open tool case, cradle it to his chest and stalk out of the room anew.

It was all Bucky could do to keep from laughing at the adorable sight.

“Oh yeah.” Steve grinned, the smug bastard as Bucky sighed and stared after the snarky genius.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/invisbledragon). (which is where I'll be hiding myself)


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